Page 101 of The Man with a Treasure

I opened eyes that I hadn’t realized I had closed. I was enraptured by this woman, who I had mistaken for a lost child.

Like a succubus ready to devour the fantastic energy shared between lovers, Scarlett lay on her stomach, cradling my face, begging, “Please… let me taste you.” Her sweet wine-scented exhale brushed across my lips. “It would mean so much to me.”

Plump lips parted slightly, silently promised delicious delirium.

I had to have a taste, too. So, I did.

It was a gentle touch. But it was enough to warn me that if I continued, I might never be the same. My rocket, the one needing skies, roared to life.

“Angel, lick me.”

The keys under my fingers continued to make music as I waved goodbye to caution and welcomed my Soul Keeper. For that is what she was. The siren who captured me whole.

As my tongue reached out to swipe the full luscious lips for which I starved, my rocket lifted from the ground.

When my mouth opened to possess hers, every part of my body ached to move closer to my Soul Keeper. Her touch, her flavor, her fever, were all intoxicating.

With Scarlett moaning in my mouth, my rocket soared through the sky, searching for the air she had stolen from my lungs.

Completely enraptured, I was shocked to hear Sal’s shoes as he walked in, then came to a sudden stop.

Scarlett’s eyes were still closed as I stood. But I didn’t miss her soft words. “You are my wings, Angel.”

Scarlett, may your soul save mine.

My hand reached out to touch her angelic face, but I didn’t.

Was I betraying Scarlett by walking away? No. I was trying to understand exactly where I stood so that, when I took my next steps with her, my feet were steady. They would be what she needed and deserved.

By the time Scarlett opened her eyes, I was in a dark corner watching over her, right next to Sal. We both observed as she solemnly slid off the piano. There was a surrender to her motions as she peered down at the shirt on the floor.

She moved with quiet determination as she stepped over it and walked to the kitchen.

The thing about Scarlett was balance. If you were brave enough to witness it, you would see it. Although she had made up her mind about one thing, she felt her ghosts, too.

My heart cracked when she retrieved her plastic cup from the dishwasher. I had to grab Sal’s arms to restrain him as she filled it with warm faucet water. I knew he wanted to nourish her, but there were more ways than one to nurture. Scarlett and I had discussed Faith. I had to see if she truly believed.

Small miracles…

Scarlett—the victim—set her cup down and grabbed a small plate. Then, shocking the hell out of both of us, she grabbed a knife and cut herself a piece of Sal’s veggie lasagna that had been left on top of the stove.

Sal covered his mouth to stay quiet as she pulled a small fork from the drawer.

It may sound trivial, but she took a bite, feeding herself, all by herself.

When she jolted and peered off to the side—not where we were hiding, Sal and I immediately reached for the guns in our holsters, but stopped when Scarlett took a deep breath and quietly said, “I’m not alone. I’m not alone.”

I had to swallow down emotions, silently telling her, No, baby, you’re not. I’m right here.

After rinsing her dish and leaving it in the sink, Scarlett went to her room, not searching for either of the men in the house who helped her feel safer.

My body sighed. Scarlett was beginning to rely upon herself.

Whispering, Sal said, “She is so brave.”

I could still taste her on my lips. “Yes.”

Silence lingered…